Mermaid Fillet

       At the dawn of Greek history, two sirens—Calliope and Thalassa—grew bored of their olive grove in the middle of Hellenic nowhere. “Let’s visit the Pillars of Hercules!” chirped Calliope, flapping her ornamental wings (useless for flight, excellent for dramatic entrances). “I need something exciting for my blog. The voice of Adventure and Fame lures me away!” Thalassa didn’t care a straw for social media but liked sea breeze. So it was settled. One tiny problem: how to get across the Oecumene? Remember, wings are for selfies, and not a personal airplane ticket. Hitchhiking seemed wise. The sirens flagged down Helios’ sun-chariot, told they could sing nicely if his radio breaks. That was how the sun god learned about the concept of vehicle stereo. At first, he liked their voices and their Bro Country repertoire, but after a tenth song about long road, beer, and faraway beloved, Helios kicked the stereo duo out of his chariot and right on a desolate islet. Day 1,Calliope wrote in her blog, Ate seaweed. Argued over whose fault it was. Came to an agreement that Helios’. No musical taste at all! Day 2: Fed up with seaweed. Crafted a net out of seaweed, dragged out some fish. That’s better, but Thalassa says a bit of lemon juice would have been perfect. Day 3: Built a “HELIOS IS A TIT-SIZED TITAN” graffiti mural in clamshells. Day 5: Spotted a bireme. Cried for help, flapped wings, Thalassa proposed to sing some Disco or Jazz. The ship veered full steam, i.e. full row, splintered on reefs, and sank. “…Oops,” said Thalassa, watching oarmen flounder and swear. On Day n-th, a salvation seemed to descend from the sky. No, not Helios—he had been passing by every day, reading yet another pun or meme about him on the rocks, and scorching the islet with his scorn. And the rescue took form of a hero on a winged horse. “Perseus,” he introduced himself, and announced that his Pegasus would only carry one extra ballast, so the sirens must hold a contest, and whichever one was the best in coaxing a hero—there he leered and flexed—would be taken ashore. Calliope said him where exactly he should stick his ego and his horce’s… well, let’s say tail. Perseus replied in all earnestness that it wasn’t his kink, and Thalassa had to explain it had been a No. Routine ensued. Distress calls accidentally lured ships to doom. Some ships sailed by but did not react at all, as if their crew was deaf—or just had wax in ears. Salvaged planks became a beachfront bungalow (“Shipwreck Chic,” declared Calliope). Nereids were dropping by to share gossip and learn new songs. Driftwood framed lewd sand-art (aimed at Helios’ daily commute). All in all, the trip was not as bad as it seemed earlier. So, when another barely winged guest descended and offered a ride, the sirens had to hold council among themselves. Do they still want to the land? What’s the catch, Thalassa inquired. Hermes (for it was him) leered, but replied instead of flexing, that, being a trickster himself, he enjoyed their daily posts about Helios. Thus, he wanted to reward the sirens for all the little moments of joy. Okay, they decided, an overlong vacation is not a vacation already, and agreed to return to mainland. Or to any island larger than this one. That’s how they ended up on Crete and opened “The Siren’s Last Call” tavern on Crete, serving seaweed cocktails and non-lethal shanties. Helios, passing overhead, gagged at their “World’s Worst God” banner (woven from rotten kelp). Occasionally, mariners would call them for a private talk and ask to come to some rocky shore and sing a real thing to have some ship wrecked—"for the insurance” (ancient Greece’s first fraud case). And the islet which had been the sirens’ retreat earned TripAdvisor’s first-ever one-star review: “Scenery: 10/10. Navigation: Fatally Misleading.”